


Life is Just a Ferris Wheel (It's Either Up or Down)

by notquitepunkrock



Series: And One Time... [6]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: (like .2 seconds though), Alternate Universe - High School, And I'm too lazy to rewrite it, Def not meant to be Joe/Patrick btw, Frerard is hinted at, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm a Peterick, I'm just bad at showing it, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Joe and Patrick are rly close in this, M/M, No One Is Okay, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Social Anxiety, Triggers:, almost, and Andy is Joe's, bc they're in the same year, but Pete is Patricks BFFL, jesus I mention like everyone, so's Peterick and Joshler, this is really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/notquitepunkrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or five times Patrick had a panic attack, and one time he almost did</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life is Just a Ferris Wheel (It's Either Up or Down)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really bad at writing at panic attacks/social anxiety for someone who has them. Just saying. I apologize for how bad this is.
> 
> Trigger Warning for panic attacks. If that'll trigger you, please don't read this okay?  
> Title from Lullabye by Fall Out Boy
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm aware that Patrick's mom's (and siblings') last name is spelled Stumph. For this purposes of this fic, they are all Stump. It's easier this way. Sorry?

**~one~** **  
** **(twelve years old)**

“Mom, I want to go home,” Patrick mumbled, trailing behind his mother through the supermarket. “Please, everyone’s looking at me.” 

His mother rolled her eyes, pushing her cart along the dairy aisle. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” she said, stopping to put milk into the cart. “No one is looking at you.” She didn’t look at her son as she said this, and thus didn’t see the distress on his face. Patrick’s brother, Kevin, did see it, however, and grabbed his younger brother’s shoulder.

“Patrick and I are going to the car,” he said, pulling Patrick away. Their mother nodded, tossing her son the keys and letting them leave. 

Patrick didn’t really care where they went, as long as people stopped  _ looking  _ at him. His hands were shaking and he was starting to feel like he couldn’t breathe. He really,  _ really,  _ wanted to just go home. Kevin pushed him into the backseat, and climbed in the passenger side, reaching over to put the keys in the ignition for the AC and radio. 

“You okay?” he asked, flipping through the stations absentmindedly. Patrick swallowed, clenching his fists so his hands would stop shaking. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said finally, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window.

**~two~** **  
** **(thirteen years old)**

“You okay, ‘Trick?” Joe asked, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Patrick resisted the urge to push his friend away, even though cell in his body was begging Joe to just lift his damn arm.

“Peachy,” he managed, forcing himself not to think about the crowd surrounding him, probably staring at the short, chubby kid and wondering why he was avoiding the rides and  _ oh my god, he couldn’t breathe. _

Joe frowned pulling him out of the main thoroughfare, between two of the food booths. He moved his arm away, letting Patrick have a little bit of space. “You sure? We can go home - the others would understand.”

Patrick gave no response other than shaking his head and putting his head in his hands.  _ What’s wrong with me, why does this keep happening to me, am I sick, am I going to die?  _ he wondered, fighting to get air into his lungs. 

“Patrick, buddy, breathe. You’re freaking me out,” Joe mumbled, tugging his phone from his pocket. “Listen, I’ll call Pete and Andy, or like, Gerard or something. They can help.”

Patrick’s eyes widened, and he began shaking his head frantically.  _ They can’t know I’m like this, I can do this on my own, I don’t want help, I don’t want to burden them _ . 

“D-Don’t call them! I’m okay, see?” he held up a hand, willing it to stop shaking. Joe didn’t seem convinced.

“Are you sure?” he asked, slowly lowering his cell phone and frowning at Patrick. 

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pocket and looking at his feet, pulling his worn trucker cap over his eyes. In reality, he knew he wasn’t okay, but he would suffer through this… whatever it was, and everything would be great. It would be  _ great.  _ “Let’s go find the others,” he said, leaving Joe to follow him through the oppressing crowd.

**~three~**

**(fourteen years old)**

Patrick tugged at his sweater, narrowing his eyes at his reflection. It was baggy, and covered his body in a way that satisfied him, because he was still insecure, regardless of his recent weight loss.  _ (Yes, Mom, you were right, I grew out of it. Sort of.) _ And now he was going to a local music festival with Pete and Joe and Andy and Mikey and Frank and he really just wanted to stay home. He wouldn’t, though, because he was supposed to be a good friend, and they wanted to go and have fun and he couldn’t just say no.

His phone vibrated angrily from its place on his desk, alerting him to a new kik message. He frowned, checking the message. Unfortunately, it lead him to their friends’ group chat, which was a terrifying form of chaos

 

_ ~jishwa has changed chat name to: mUsIc NeRdS~ _

_ tyjo: josh why _

_ geeWhiz: I don’t /hate/ it but rly is that the best u can do? _

_ jishwa: stfu like u could do better _

_ plkwIII: TRICK WE’RE OUTSIDE _

_ LynZ: is that anyway to summon ur bf, wentz? _

_ plkwIII: not my bf, not gay, sh _

_ Tricky: I’m coming hold on a sec. _

_ mikeyway: good, I was getting tired of his whining _

_ -Tricky has left the chat- _

Patrick didn’t want to offend anyone but the annoying amount of messages from the stupid group chat was going to drive him crazy. It would be okay if he didn’t feel like throwing up at the thought of going to this stupid music festival, but at the moment his friends were too much to handle all at once.

He trudged down stairs, stopping just long enough to grab a fedora and place it on his head. “I’m leaving!” he called to the house, as if there were anyone home. In reality, he was the only one here, with his siblings both off doing their own thing and his parents at work. 

Patrick locked the door and sort of ambled down to Andy’s van, trying to look casual. Pete pulled the door to the back open as he approached, making grabby hands at him like a small child wanting to be picked up. “Patrick!” he cried, pulling the short blond into the van and and enveloping him in a hug.

Andy rolled his eyes, quiet as ever, as he pulled away from Patrick’s house. The ride to the fairgrounds was filled with Frank wondering if any punk bands would be playing, Joe complaining he was hungry, and Pete jabbering excitedly. Patrick remained mostly silent in an effort to keep from panicking. It would be fantastic if he could actually make it to the site  _ before  _ freaking out.

Upon arriving at the fairgrounds and claiming their spot with the blankets, folding chairs, and water cooler that Andy had thought to bring with them, everyone split up, heading to check out the various vendors that were located around the circle. Patrick nervously eyed the crowd that his friends were planning to delve further into, glancing back at the equally crowded area around their pile. He could feel the anxiety pooling in his stomach, and began to twist his fingers together uncomfortably as panic rose in his chest.

And then Joe was at his side, tugging him through the crowd and towards the less chaotic food trucks, and Patrick was reminded briefly of the the trip to the fair the previous year. “I’m getting food for everyone, wanna help?” Joe asked, keeping himself a safe distance away from Patrick. The younger boy had never felt more grateful for his curly haired friend.

“S-sure,” he said, wincing at the way his voice shook. Joe frowned at him, but didn’t comment, heading towards a truck that proudly declared it sold food of the vegan variety. 

“For Andy,” he said, though he didn’t need to. “See anything you want? I’ll buy - well, Pete will.” The chuckle that followed seemed only slightly forced.

“How will Pete buy?” Patrick asked, flushing as a girl looked his way.  _ Stop looking at me, everyone’s judging me, why did I wear a fedora, what teenager wears fedoras?  _ The panic was building again, but he didn’t miss that Joe said Pete gave him money for Patrick’s food - and Patrick’s alone. He laughed a little harshly, wincing and tugging his sleeves over his knuckles.

“‘Trick, breathe,” Joe muttered as they neared the front of the line. “You’re okay.” 

Patrick resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands and run away, and swallowed a large gulp of air. “I’m fine, Joe,” he mumbled, crossing his arms instead.

_ What’s wrong with me? _

**~four~**

**(fourteen years old)**

Patrick sat on his bed with his knees pulled to his chest, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his arms. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t calm down for long enough to call for help.

_ This is it, I’m dying, I’m going to die -  _ “Mom!” he was able to yell the one word and suck in a breath, before it was back to sobbing and hyperventilating and mentally begging for help. He heard footsteps, and his mother pushed the door open, followed by Kevin and Megan, both home from school for the holidays. She motioned for them to leave, prying Patrick’s hands away from his arms and pressing kisses into the top of his head. 

Once he was calm enough to speak, she pulled away, frowning at his red, tearstreaked face. “What’s wrong, honey? Has that happened before?”

Patrick shook his head, even as he thought,  _ liar.  _ He didn’t want his mother to worry. “I just. There’s a birthday for Brendon that my friends are throwing, and there’ll be  _ so many people  _ and I don’t know I just panicked. I’m sorry.” 

Mrs. Stump frowned at her son, but she accepted the answer. “Let me see your phone.”

Patrick hesitated, but if there was thing he had learned, it was to never say no to Patricia Stump. He handed her the phone, which had about fifty different messages from his friends asking where he was. He had, after all, sort of disappeared from the group chat in the middle of typing. His mother typed in a message, handing the phone back and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” she said, moving to leave the room. “I’ll get you some water.”

Patrick check the conversation, trying to keep it in one place as his friend’s typed out their replies to the message Mrs. Stump had sent. 

_ Tricky: sorry guys, can’t make it. I’m sick. Happy birthday, Brendon! _

**~five~**

**(sixteen years old)**

“Where’s Patrick?” Mikey asked, standing the door with several bags from McDonald’s  in his hands. “Also, why did you tell me to bring food?”

“I was hungry,” Brendon replied, grabbing for one of the bags from by Mikey’s feet. He pulled a cheeseburger from the depths, and handed the rest down to Dallon, leaning back against the section of wall he had claimed as his own.

The food was passed around and Mikey sat on the floor beside Andy. Gerard followed shortly after, settling in next to Ray with cup of coffee and sleep in his eyes. No one mentioned the boy lying in the hospital bed, or the absence of his best friend.

Said best friend was down the hall, hiding in the single-person bathroom just off a waiting area. Patrick was curled up in the corner, disregarding the cold discomfort the floor provided as he wished for this to  _ please, just stop happening to him. _

“They aren’t judging me, they’re my friends, calm down, calm down, calm down, they’re all worried about Pete,” he mumbled. At his best friend’s name, he choked back a sob, because  _ this wasn’t supposed to happen, he failed to keep him safe, he loved him so much and he almost lost him, fuck, fuck, fuck, this was all his fault, everyone probably hated him for his failure. _

The anxiety had started the second he saw Andy’s name on his caller ID at oh-God-o-clock in the morning, and it had only gotten worse as he found himself climbing into Joe’s beat up car, frantically calling as many of their friends as he could before he couldn’t speak from sobbing and hyperventilating so badly. The last call he made was to Frank, and then he had to shoot a text to Mikey, asking him to finish the job. After that, he curled up in Joe’s passenger seat and  _ bawled  _ as the older boy tried to calm him down _. _

The anxiety and panic and fear kept building for every second they were kept out of the room in the waiting room for so many people to stare at them, until Pete’s parents hassled the doctors enough to allow the group access to the room, and it built with each minute that Pete wasn’t awake, and it built for each time Frank’s phone went to voicemail and each person who entered the room for some reason or another, until finally he had to leave. 

And now here he was, having a panic attack in a hospital bathroom. The worst part was that, even though there were a million reasons for this to happen right now, for some godforsaken reason, it was because of the amount of people.

_ This would be why I avoid people,  _ he thought, sucking in a breath as best he could.

Eventually, he was able to calm himself down enough to leave the bathroom, though his hands still shook and his heart still raced at the thought of being trapped in that room with so many people. On the way back, he mentally berated himself for being so selfish - what if Pete had woken up, seen he wasn’t there, and thought Patrick hated him? 

**-ONE-**

**(seventeen years old)**

“Patrick, honey, take your medicine,” his mother reminded him gently as he tromped through the kitchen, nodding towards the pill box on the counter. He nodded, opening Thursday’s section and dropping the Xanax into his hand. 

“See ya, Mom,” he said, heading for the door. He stuck his medication into his hoodie’s pocket, where it bumped against his emergency aerosol inhaler. He would take it once he got to Pete’s, he ensured himself, patting the pocket of his jeans to check for his asthma inhaler. It had been annoying at first, having to carry around two inhalers rather than one, but it was helpful when he had a truly awful panic attack and couldn’t breathe.

He ran down the driveway to Mikey and Gerard’s car, and slid into the open seat in the back next to Frank. “Hey, sorry, I wasn’t even dressed yet,” he apologized, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“S’okay,” Gerard replied as he pulled away from the curb.

“Yeah, Frankie was entertaining us with really bad Mario impressions,” Mikey agreed, laughing when the short boy turned red and spluttered indignantly.

Patrick laughed. “It’sa me, Mario!” he cried, ignoring the way his heart jumped in his chest as the other occupants giggled at him.

_ It’s okay, you were trying to be funny,  _ he reminded himself, slipping his hand into his pocket to close around his inhaler. Just holding the plastic casing made him feel a bit better. Gerard and Mikey bickered back and forth on the short ride to Pete’s house. Normally, Patrick would have walked, but Gerard had offered because of the cold, and frankly, it was freezing outside. 

They got to Pete’s at the same time as Andy and Joe, who drove up in Joe’s brand new, bright yellow sportscar. The four boys tumbled out and into the driveway, where Patrick thanked the elder Way for the ride. 

Gerard waved him off. “Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. Patrick tried not to feel guilty about the fact that they had to go out of their way to pick him up, and that Ray had to catch a ride elsewhere. Mikey had already told him to stop freaking out over that. 

He squeezed himself in between Joe and Andy as they made their way up the front stairs, forcing a laugh from his chest as Joe made a joke. The familiar anxious feeling bubbled in his chest as they squeezed in the unlocked door and made their way into the the basement, which he shoved down. 

_ I’m fine,  _ he reminded himself, searching the room for Pete. However the older boy found him first, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. 

“You made it!” he cried, causing Patrick to blush. He had been absent from the past few get-togethers, once for a therapy appointment, and the rest because he had been too anxious to come. Every time, Pete would show up at Patrick’s unannounced afterwards, sometimes with Andy and Joe in tow. Though only Joe knew the real reasons for the absences - upon Patrick’s diagnosis with social anxiety disorder, he had told Joe, who had seen several of his panic attacks - the other boys never wondered why he hadn’t been there, even though he seemed just fine when they arrived. 

Joe was watching him from the corner of his eye, Patrick realized as Pete turned to Mikey with his arm still around Patrick. He sent the other boy a smile, shoving the frames of his glasses up his nose, and turned to the conversation that Pete was having with Mikey. 

It wasn’t until everyone had arrived that he began to really feel the anxiety that had been bubbling in his stomach, threatening to spill over when he least expected it. 

Patrick suddenly realized that Tyler and Josh were seated on the couch and being not-so-subtle about the way they kept looking at each other, and that Brendon and Dallon were bent over the lyric book that used to be Ryan’s and giggling, and that Debby and Jenna were messing around with an app on Debby’s phone, and that Andy was tapping away at a drumset while Joe watched.  He noticed the way Ray was laughing at something Mikey had muttered under his breath, and Gerard was talking to Lyn-Z and Halsey, tapping his fingers on his skinny jeans, hand slowly creeping towards Frank’s, and Hayley was conspicuously  _ not there. _

And all of a sudden, he was sure they were staring at him, and laughing at him, and talking about him, and he needed  _ out. _

He didn’t even notice that he was backing up, towards the stairs, until Pete’s arm tightened around him and he whispered, “you okay, Lunch?” into Patrick’s ear. Patrick jumped, heart pounding, and twisted the hem of his sweater between his fingers.

“I’m great, I’m fine. Just peachy. I think I’m going to get some water, actually,” he stuttered, freeing himself from Pete’s arm and sort of stumbling to the stairs. He practically ran into Pete’s kitchen, and busied himself with getting water. This was easier said than done, as he was shaking so badly that he nearly dropped his glass and had to swap it for a non-breakable, plastic cup. 

Joe came into the room just in time to see this, looking worried. When he saw the state

that the younger was in, he found himself at Patrick’s side, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “You shouldn’t have come if it makes you this anxious, Pat, they’d understand.”

Patrick scowled, pressing leaning over to rest his elbows on the counter. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry, it’s okay,” he said, even though his voice was shaking and he was pretty clearly fighting for air. “Stupid social anxiety likes to kick my ass, I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“You still haven’t told Pete,” Joe frowned at him.

“Okay, there’s a reason for that,” Patrick said, ignoring the uncomfortable tightening of the knot of anxiety that had seemingly formed in his stomach. 

Joe pulled his hand away, raising an eyebrow. “Which is? Because Andy’s worried, and so’s Pete. Which makes sense as you’re his best friend - not Mikey, like you insist - and you haven’t told him about this. It’s fucked up, man.”

“He doesn’t need to worry about me,” Patrick said casually, inhaling deeply in an attempt to get his lungs to open up again. “I mean, come on, this group already has enough going on. Headcount: Pete’s… think happened, Mikey’s probably hurting himself, Hayley ran off and we don’t know why, Frank’s been abused since he was like, two, Gee has drinking problems and had that relapse a couple months ago, Tyler and Andy are both, quote, ‘a little bit suicidal,’ Brendon’s an ass whose best friend ditched him, Dallon hates himself, and like half of us are depressed. But sure, let’s throw my anxiety in the pile. Everyone needs to worry about someone else.”

Joe sighed. “You don’t get it, do you?” he grumbled. He turned back towards the stairs to the basement. “Fine, don’t tell him, and ignore the fact that he’s completely in love with you. I’m gonna go see if anyone has a cigarette or something.”

Patrick watched him go, then let himself out Pete’s front door and began the walk home. He didn’t even bother to retrieve his jacket (and thus, his inhaler) from the basement first.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! I hate the ending, but then, I always do, lol. 
> 
> I'm testing ideas for more in this 'verse but I dunno where it's going. We shall see, I suppose. Please comment and leave kudos if you think it's worth that much. <3


End file.
